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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/25427026">20th December 1981</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/moonstarshadow/pseuds/moonstarshadow'>moonstarshadow</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>Stolen Letters [2]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Azkaban, Book 3: Harry Potter and the Prisoner of Azkaban, F/M, M/M, Marauders, Mentioned James Potter, Mentioned Lily Evans Potter, Not Canon Compliant, Not Canon Compliant - Harry Potter and the Prisoner of Azkaban, Original Character(s)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-07-21</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-07-21</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-05 05:54:29</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Not Rated</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>2,388</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/25427026</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/moonstarshadow/pseuds/moonstarshadow</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>James Potter/Lily Evans Potter, Sirius Black/Remus Lupin</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>Stolen Letters [2]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/series/1827556</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>2</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>6</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>20th December 1981</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>It was the 20th of December 1981. Remus Lupin was in his home, alone, laying on his sofa, his eyes covered by his arm. Christmas was right around the corner, but the air didn’t smell like cookies and hot chocolate, like bliss and laughter. Without any light or decoration, and without his friends around, that house seemed to be stuck in November. That night kept haunting him, in his sleep and while he was awake. He couldn’t seem to find a moment of peace, continuously followed by the ghost of his friends, the memories of their joy and their sufferings. Remus could almost remember the way his muscles moved when he heard the news. He could remember his lips slightly open while his eyesight went blurry, he remembered feeling the tears form in his eyes as his knees went weak. Suddenly his body was on the ground, his throat and lungs burning as if the air kept getting away from him. His heart was destroyed on that night and it only kept getting worse. He couldn’t help but think about them all the time. It seemed like his mind was forced to fill every minute of every hour with memories. He thought about the last Christmases, the letters, the gifts, the days at Hogwarts before the holidays would begin, when they would sneak out from the dormitory and run in the kitchens. In other times, he would have smiled at those thoughts. That’s what he had always expected, to grow old with his friends and smile and laugh about the long gone times, their adventures and their shenanigans. Now he couldn’t even remember how smiling felt on his face, as if his muscles had already forgotten how to move, and the memories only caused him pain, the happier they were, the worse. Remus sighted as he slowly got up from the sofa, headed to the bathroom. When he looked in the mirror, he didn’t recognize himself. He was almost disgusted by the man he saw in the mirror, so weak, so broken. The dark circles under his eyes underlined their puffiness, caused by the continuous crying and the lack of sleep. The scars on his face were darker, probably because he hadn’t been eating much and his skin had become paler, and they seemed deeper than ever, as if the absence of his friends had caused them to open even more. The last full moons had been terrible on him. The sorrow and the anger only seemed to magnify his aggressivity, his beastliness, but at the same  time it seemed to him that during those hours the corpses of his friends weren’t haunting him anymore. But when the night would end, leaving him breathless and bleeding, they would appear again. He would see Lily, James and Peter standing in front of him, looking at him with pitiful eyes. Sirius, sometimes, would be there too, with the same expression and his same blue eyes, and Remus hated himself when it happened. He was the cause of all that pain, of the deaths and the broken lives. He was a murderer, and a traitor. Yet there he was, thinking about him once again, scrambling, making up absurd justifications to exonerate him. And he fucking hated himself even more when this happened. Sirius had betrayed him, and their friends, he had betrayed love and friendship. He was a murderer and there was no reason for him to try and clear his name. He should have been hating him, even if he only kept hating himself. Breathing deeply, Remus took off his clothes and entered the shower, letting the cold water run on his pale skin, giving his mind and his wounds a moment of relief.</p><p>On the same night, Sirius Black was once again writing in his cell. He didn’t have any strength left and each word required him a tremendous effort, as he struggled to keep his hand from shaking as the feather moved on the paper. It was the fourth message for him and as he closed the parchment, Sirius started wondering if those letters would have ever been read, or if they even reached their destination. He wondered if someone would have ever found out the truth or if he was just destined to die in there, alone with his guilt and his broken soul, with the hatred of his lover weighting on his shoulders. He wondered how he would have died, then he wondered when, and he wished so bad it could be sooner than later. As the piercing needle of Death started to sew its thoughts on his skin and his mind, Sirius crawled once again right next to the bars, where the letter slipped away from his pale hand and his senses abandoned him.</p><p>Castor Oregon Turner was a 45 years old wizard, and he worked as a guard in Azkaban. He had short blondish hair, which had already started to go white, and brown eyes. He and his parents had moved from the USA to England when he was 10, and the following year he attended Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, where he was sorted in Slytherin. At school, he met his future wife, Julie Anderson, a petite black haired witch from Wales, sorted in Ravenclaw. They found themselves sharing many classes, during which their eyes were always looking for the other’s, and eventually they ended up together in their sixth year, not letting go of each other ever since. The couple had two twins after their marriage, Marcus and Darrel. At the time of his second year as a guard, the boys were just a few months old. Looking back, Castor thought that was probably the reason behind his tenderizing at the time, justifying his kind and gentle soul with the fact he had just become a father. Either way, whatever the real reason might have been, Castor unconsciously  decided to be the first man to truly believe in Sirius Black’s innocence. He had been working hard for almost the past two years when Sirius Black was imprisoned and his superiors assigned him his current position. He just had to check on the prisoner every once in a while and bring him food, and take his letters if he was asked to. At first, Castor was immensely glad they were given the possibility to write home, seeing in that gesture a way not to completely dehumanize the prisoners, already drained by the presence of Dementors.  Castor didn’t like his job at all. He hated seeing people slowly going mad or dying, he hated seeing innocents wrongly imprisoned, he hated seeing actual criminals too. Everything was always dark in there, even if the lights were on; even the oxygen seemed dark to him. But his father, back in New York, had been a guard too, and knowing the right people he had managed to get him a job, and the last thing Castor wanted was to disappoint his family, especially now that he had a family of his own. Therefore, seeing a sparkle of humanity in that dark place seemed to him like a good reason to keep himself working hard, despite hating that place. Needless to say his high hopes dropped soon after finding out the letters were supposed to be burnt and never reach their destination. He really couldn’t understand how evil people could be : giving those people a reason to keep on living for a short while, only for it to become another reason of the prisoner’s suffering. At first, when Sirius wrote the first short message, Castor didn’t think about it twice and went straight to the furnace on the last floor, where other letters were burning and the air smelled like burnt parchment and ink. He perfectly followed his orders like a soldier, like he was supposed and taught to. But one night, something went off. It was the 20th of December 1982 and that was Castor’s last day before Christmas holidays. He was pretty anxious to get home, finally hugging his children and his wife again after almost a month away. In addition, he had to go muggle shopping in London to buy the twins some soft toys he would have charmed later and a book from his wife’s favourite muggle author. Then he would have gone at Diagon Alley to buy some sweets, so he could fill the stockings he was sure Julie had already hung. That was one of the rare days in his work life where a subtle smile would be present on his face, despite being in such a place. Yet, when Black’s voice came to his hears, broken and feeble, his lips weren’t curved anymore and his heart ached a little. As asked by the man, Castor brought him parchment paper and a feather, so he could write while he waited just outside the bars, not looking at him. When he heard a thud behind him, the guard turned around only to face a passed out Sirius. He sighted as he bent to take the letter out of the cell, placing it in his pocket. He looked at the man, pale and weak, and he felt a weight on his chest. He didn’t know why, but he always felt like that guy was different, there was something in him that made Castor want to treat him kindly. As he got out of the isolation zone, Castor whispered a <em>merry Christmas</em>, then closed the door behind him.</p><p>The hours passed quickly and his last turn of the year was finally over. A smile appeared on his face once again as he almost ran out of the building with his coat on. The air outside was freezing, so he closed his coat with one hand and quickly took out his wand with the other, only to apparate moments later in Diagon Alley. He felt relieved to finally be surrounded by his people, happy and colourful places. After the quick shopping he apparated once again, this time in a hidden backstreet in London. His smile got even bigger at the sight of the lights decorating the city, as his nostrils were pervaded by the smell of Christmas cookies. He loved seeing muggles this happy as they truly got in touch, like every year, with the tangible magic filling the air. Castor enjoyed himself, waiting in a queue in front of the toy store, where he bought a bunch of stuffed animals, while talking to a young lady who, like him, had just gotten back home from work. Once he also bought the present for Julie, Castor went in the exact same spot where he had previously apparated. In a matter of seconds, he then found himself in the backyard of his own house, smiling at the familiar sight. When he got inside, his heart was finally at peace, as if he had already forgotten everything he had witnessed in the past month.</p><p>“Castor!” a softly spoken voice caught his attention. “My dear.” his heart jumped at the sight of his wife. Castor dropped his bags on the ground as he went and hugged Julie, holding her close to his chest. “I missed you so much.” she said returning the hug, her voice muffled against the man’s body. “I missed you too.” He answered, placing a soft kiss on her forehead. “I missed all of you! Where are the kids?” he asked, his tone funnily high-pitched from the excitement. Julie smiled as she took her husband to their children’s room, where Marcus and Darrel were playing in one of the cribs. As soon as they entered the room, Marcus laid his dark blue eyes on his parents, and he squealed as his father approached them. Castor took both of them in his arms and smiled when Darrel started chewing his ear, while Marcus carefully studied his nose, touching and pinching him. Noticing it was already 8 pm, Julie and Castor agreed it was time for the kids to go to sleep, so after feeding them, Castor took them again in his arms and sat on the rocking. He softly sang to them you are my sunshine until the toddlers slowly fell asleep. After placing them in their own crib, the couple went downstairs to the kitchen. During dinner they talked, telling each other everything that had happened in their lives while the other was away, and they found themselves staying at the table long after they finished their food, like they used to do at school when they met in one’s house common room, until they had to leave. They stayed up until late and Castor offered to clean the dishes so that Julie could go to sleep. She said she would have waited for him in bed, but he knew she would have fallen asleep as soon as her head touched the pillow. When he got to the bedroom, in fact, he found the woman asleep, her mouth slightly open as she breathed peacefully. He smiled and changed his clothes, ready to put on his pyjama, when suddenly something fell from his pocket, and when grabbed it he immediately realized it was Sirius Black’s letter. He had forgotten to burn it. Wearing the top of his pyjama, he laid in bed next to his wife, analysing the paper in his hands. No one would have ever known if he read it. After all, what was the difference between a burnt letter and a stole one? So, switching on the lamp on his nightstand, Castor opened the letter and read it.</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>20th December, 1981</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Moony,                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                </em>
</p><p>
  <em>I'm sorry. Will you ever forgive me?                                                                                                                                    </em>
</p><p>
  <em>Sirius</em>
</p><p> </p><p>He did not expect it to be that short, but he wasn't truly surprised. He could imagine the pain and the suffering that man was going through, he could almost feel it through his words. He was curious and suddenly he wished he hadn’t burnt the other letters. He bit his lip, wondering if it was fair for him to read those letters, to disrespect his orders just like that. Eventually, he opened the last drawer on the nightstand and there he placed the parchment, hiding it under some laundry. There he placed Sirius Black’s words and their future secret, for there is no difference between a burnt letter and a stolen one.</p><p> </p>
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